


For King and Country

by TheQueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Dark Lance (Voltron), Galrans are marsupials, Lance raised by Sendak, M/M, Model Lance, Tags to be added, this isn't that important but i had to mention it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: In which Lance is raised by Sendak and is a fully functioning member of the Galran Empire only to meet a group of rebels who insist his destiny is to destroy everything his father and people have every worked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AbandonedLibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbandonedLibrary/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Baby Album](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142781) by [AbandonedLibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbandonedLibrary/pseuds/AbandonedLibrary). 



Lance sighs, tipping his head back as he clicks the first song on the holoscreen. It’s soft melody and steady beats filling the otherwise silent make up room. He had three more outfits to try on and then he could wash off this glitter and greet his father at the docking station. After too long, his family was going to be reunited and his impatience with the clock was making it hard to keep still. 

As if reading his mind the make up girl of the week speaks up, “Is your father docking today?”

Lance has learned by now to play nice with the others on set. He might not like them. He finds the majority of the people in the fashion world to superficial to stand. “Yes,” he says, pausing as she runs a glittered brush over his cheekbones, touching up the purple highlights. Sometimes shoots would require him to be painted purple to appeal to more of the general Galran audience, but this designer had said he wanted his natural darker brown skin to compliment the color pallet of his seasonal line. All light blues and whites to compliment the cooler months of the Galran home planet even if the colony Lance resided on was still experiencing its warmer months.

But as they say, the universe never strays from the Gala.

“I’ll be meeting him later today,” Lance continues when she is done applying the lipstick. He has fifteen tocks to kill before dressing wants him. He leans back in his chair and sighs, “He’s been gone a long time.”

“My father is also assigned to the Eastern sectors,” the make up artist admits. “He always said Commander Sendak was a great leader.”

“Thank you,” Lance smiles at her, the first genuine smile he’s worn all day. He feels warm at the reminder of how strong and powerful his father is. An unchallenged general. Loyal to their Emperor and, in turn, favored. General of one of the largest fleets in the empire, spearheading the campaign into the farthest reaches of their superculster, stepping into territories unknown. Brave. Respectable. A true leader. “I hope your father returns soon. If he is assigned to my father’s command than he must be a great Galran as well.”

The make up artist blushes, “You are too kind, sir.”

“Lance,” Lance corrects her, finding the conversation easy now that they stand on common ground. Two fathers away at war as their children wait. His heart aches with the knowledge one day his father might not come home. He had tried for the military before his feet led him to safer harbors. He was not cut out for it. Too stubborn. Perhaps too spoilt living a life of leisure within his father’s care. He knows what people say about him: the spoilt prince of the Eastern Sectors. The unnatural son of a hero. 

The Galran make up artist smiles, all thin lips pulled back around sharp teeth. Nothing like Lance’s own. She isn’t ugly. Not by Galran standards, Lance assesses. All sharp lines with high cheekbones and a wide set of hips for her pouch. But she is not too pretty either. Nothing to be worried about. Not pretty enough to be petty. Not pretty enough to get away with being cruel. 

It is then that Sincline returns, barking about a deadline and Lance fights down a sigh as he glances at the watch. He should have five more tocks but he knows better than to argue with the designer. “We’ll be right out,” Lance promises, “Right.”

“Right,” the make up artist echoes, throwing Lance an appreciative smile.

He smiles back. 

.

The shoot ends with less fanfare than one would expect. The clothes are taken. Makeup wipes are handed out, but the glitter would be staying until he went home to take a long, proper soak. And then Lance is changing into a soft, flowing orange tunic and a pair of black, cotton tights before he’s out the door. Music blasting in one ear. He has about thirty tocks to get to the docking stations on the other side of town and he knows public transportation is only going to slow him down.

Setting into an easy jog to maintain stamina, he grins as he ducks under an awnings and into alleyways to hop over a fence blocking 8th from Main Street. This is the part of town he’s familiar with. Running up and down the major avenues, stealing glances into pastry shops and antique stores. Every now and then a store clerk will shout out and wave, familiar with the model before he became a model. Back when he was just a troublesome child with too big eyes and a gentle complexion and fragile skin. When he’d sneak into the stores with only the pocket change his father had decided he’d earned for the week to try and pick the one sweet or sweater he could buy if he spent his money carefully.

(He’d never been one for close friends. Spent most of his time alone or with his father or with the help. Too weary of what they wanted from him to do anything different.)

He checks his phone. Fifteen tocks left. Making good time. He can feel the sweat beginning to build up along his neck and under his armpits. So he allows himself a slower pace to settle his heart before he’s off again. Just making it to the other side of the road as the walk light turns red and then he’s met with the afternoon lunch rush. People of all walks of life making their way to the streets in search of something to eat. Galran and others alike. He thinks, for a moment, he might have even spotted a kajit without a collar. But Lance has no time to waste on people watching or being considerate as he pushes his way through the crowd, apologizing when he can.

He hasn’t seen his father in fifteen lunar cycles. He will not waste another minute.

There are moments of his early childhood he doesn’t remember. Moments of another world. Of another mother. And another father. Back when he was too small. He knows what he looks like. Knows his almost Altean-features with his tan skin, fluffy hair, and pointed nose is a matter of tension amongst some elite circles. That such features have become rare since the Alteans became extinct after the unexpected and unfortunate death of their solar system to their exploding star. Has only seen one other to share the same features as himself in a Galran Arena before they left the life of luxury promised to the champion gladiator to become a fugitive of the Empire. Knows that his father is not his father by birth. That Commander Sendak stole him away from a crumbling battlefield in a fit of mercy not uncommon to the gentle giant. That his father raised him as his own with the best care and best schooling the Galran Empire could offer despite protests of uncleanliness and impurity.

Sometime he wonders what his home world was like. Wonders what his race looks like. If he is considered beautiful by their standards. Or if he is average. Wonders what their customs are, their culture. He has only a few memories. A never ending body of water. A few phrases of a mother tongue he has never heard spoken. And one in particular that repeats in his dreams

 _“Stay safe, Lance.”_ A person who looks so very much like him whispers as they set him down, long hair brushing against his cheeks to give way to a smoke-covered sky. _“I love you.”_

He does not remember much else about this person. Doesn’t know they left him in the ashes of a battlefield. Doesn’t know what they were to him.

When he was child, he was bitter. Angry at this person. Terrified of the idea he was so disposable that his parents could leave him in the midst of ruin. Terrified of the idea that each failure he collected was simply another strike towards the day he lost everything.To the day his father too left him just as his brith parents did, just as he assumed everyone would. 

But his father taught him better. Taught him he was worth more than the looks people fixated on. Taught him he was worth more than his failures. Taught him there was no shame in searching for his happiness, in giving up a military career to forge his own legacy. These days, he is only thankful to that person. Thankful they left him there in a crumbling battle field for his father to find. Thankful he has been blessed with this life and this future.

These days he’s happy. Content.

The docks are bustling when he arrives. People are running, carrying supplies from ship to dock or dock to ship. But where there should cheering as soldiers disembark from their ships, there is silence. Where there should be his father’s ship, there is empty space.

“No…” Lance whispers, pushing past the crowd to make his way to where he should be greeting his father. “No. Nononono…”

“Oh no,” someone whispers and then the crowd parts and he falls forward, shocked by the lack of resistance.

He’s crying. Tears of water falling from his eyes and blurring his vision so he stares down at his hands because he can’t bear to stare up. His father was coming home today. They were going to have dinner and catch up on all the saved television dramas Lance has been recorded religiously. They had made plans to visit the sacred temple. They were going to organize Lady Kwik’s birthday party. And try out Lance’s new recipe for fried fish.

When a hand finds his shoulder, he goes easily. He cannot find the strength to fight in his shaking knees and shaking shoulders. Cannot shrug this off or keep composure. The crowd is silent, unnaturally silent. And it is easy to tell why.

He is famous. There should be cameras, a clamor for interviews. As people ask him questions he has no answers to. _Where is your father?_ They should ask, _Where is Commander Sendak?_

But in the face of the Emperor’s grace, it is hard to find words.

“Lance son of Sendak,” Emperor Zarkon whispers though his voice carries over the unnatural hush of the docks. His presence gather the crowd into a tight circle. And when had he arrive? And how had Lance not notice him until he was standing only a step away, his heavy hand on his shoulder? 

Lance nods, frozen under the Emperor’s gaze though he has the good sense to bow his head.

There is a claw under his chin and then he is staring at his Emperor once again. “Follow me, Lance,” the Emperor says as if Lance would choose to do anything else.

.

They are taken to a private room in the shipyard. The Master-Shipwrigh bows low as he exits the room. And Lance is both flattered and unnerved to see a picture of himself from an early shoot in his career hanging over the desk.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Lance says, bowing low. “I apologize for not recognizing you earlier. I apologize for not greeting you properly.”

The Emperor is kind and simple waves away Lance’s transgression as if it means nothing, “Sendak is a good friend of mine,” the Emperor says and that familiar rush of pride sits warm in Lance’s chest before souring. His father… his father was a great man. To think the Emperor himself had come to give Lance the news… The tears begin again for all that he fights to hold them in. “His fate troubles me. His potential loss troubles me. His a good solider. And a great student. I come to you now with the hope of saving him.”

“His fate, Your Majesty?” Lance asks barely above a whisper, afraid his voice will shatter if he dares to speak louder. A tentive flutter of hope forming in the pit of his stomach. 

“He is not dead, Lance son of Sendak,” the Emperor clarifies staring at Lance with a face of neutrality. And Lance must wonder what it must be like to have to hold one’s composure always, to never be allowed to just feel even when grieving. The Emperor is a symbol in ways Lance will never understand for all that he stands in his own small spotlight. “The druids assure me of his beating heart. But he has been captured. Standard by a powerful enemy who knocks on our doorstep. An enemy I thought long defeated.”

Lance takes a deep breath, holds it, lets go.

“What, may I ask, would you be willing to do to retrieve your father?” the Emperor asks, holding Lance’s eye for all that Lance wishes to shy away from it.

“Anything,” Lance says, determination settling on his shoulders so he stands up straight, eye’s burning despite their wetness. “I would do anything, Your Majesty."

Emperor Zarkon nods, “You attended a military Academy but did not complete your training.”

Lance says nothing.

“However, your scores in information gathering were excellent,” the Emperor continues, “I would have you call on these skills now. The enemy we face is dangerous. I cannot send just any Galran to rescue your father. A full frontal assault would be suicide.”

Here the Emperor pauses, allowing Lance a moment to take everything in, to understand the danger of the task he is being given. “Voltron,” and he says it with such contempt that Lance shrinks slightly at the rage hidden just at the edges of the Emperor’s voice, “Is too powerful for that. But you…” here he pauses again, “You’re face would be welcomed by Voltron. The Champion stands among them. They will welcome you because of your race. You would be able to sneak in and free your father and any other prisoners they have taken. You would be able to hand us their location, to lower their barriers so our army may step in.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lance says, “I… I would do anything for my father and for the Empire.”

The Emperor, just for a moment, smiles. “Your father raised you well,” he compliments. “Take a day to pack your supplies and then come to the Capitol building for your assignment. Every moment we waste is a moment your father does not have. Is that clear, Lance son of Sendak?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lance says kneeling into the salute he remembers from his day in the military. He will free his father. He will defeat this Voltron. For his Emperor. For his Empire. “Vrepit Sa.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I really love [KnightNuraStar's Sendak & Lance stories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightNuraStar/pseuds/KnightNuraStar) and was inspired to write my own! So here it is!
> 
> I won't be updating this for a while until I finish Color Me Blue and my Voltron Big Bang story so think of this as a teaser for what's to come! I already have this whole thing planned out and it's going to be quite a few chapters so get excited!! And please tell me what you think!


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